
WINIFRED WELLES 




vfe- 



The 

HESITANT 

HEART 

NEW YORK: B. W. HUEBSCH 




COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



The 

Hesitant 

Heart 



WINIFRED WELLES 

The 

Hesitant 
Heart 




New York B. W. HuEBSCH Mcmxtx 



COPYRIGHT, 1919, BYB. W. HUEBSCH 
PRINTED IN U. S. A. 






APR 24 1320 



CI,A565664 



Some of these poems were first printed in the North 
American Review, The Century, The Liberator, The Smart 
Set, The Madrigal, The Poetry Journal and Contemporary 
Verse, to which due acknowledgment is made. 



[7] 



Contents 

The Hesitant Heart 9 

From a Chinese Vase 10 

School II 

The Unfaithful April 12 

Five O'clock 13 

Loud Youth 14 

Snowfall 15 

Humiliation 16 

Idyll 17 

Cobweb 18 

To Narcissus 19 

One Voice 20 

Driftwood 21 

Windows 22 

In Love 23 

Variation 24 

Hail and Farewell 25 

Plaint 26 

The Violin 27 

Keepsake 28 

A Child's Song to Her Mother 29 

Threnody 30 



Two Songs of Bitterness 31 

To a Mocking-Bird 33 

Gesture 34 

Language 35 

A Tree at Dawn 36 

A Tree at Dusk 37 

Love Song from New England 38 

Trespasser 39 

Moonfiower 40 

Surf 41 

The Misers 42 

Lifetime 43 

Communion 44 

Talisman 45 

Sympathy 46 

Nocturne 47 

The Child 48 

My Heart Can't Break 49 

Portrait of a Lady at the Piano 50 

I've Lived so Long 51 

Realities 53 

Setting for a Fairy Story 54 

Climb 56 



The Hesitant Heart 

No, I shall never climb above the hill, 
But, wistful, pause halfway and take my fill 

Of wondering — 
Behind me lies the valley, hot and still, 

A roof-scarred thing. 

If, like a lagging cloud with slow, white feet, 
I should surmount the hill, would I then greet 

The spray-wreathed sea? 
And would the eager winds blow keen and sweet 

Up, up to me? 

Halfway, my craven heart shall ever bide. 
Content in hoping that the other side 

Shines on a silver shore, 
Yet fearful lest the high hills only hide 

More vale — and nothing more. 



[9] 



From a Chinese Vase 

Roaming the lonely garden, he and I 
Pursue each other to the fountain's brim, 
And there grow quiet — woman and butterfly — 
The frail clouds beckon me, the flowers tempt him. 

My thoughts are rose-like, beautiful and bright, 
Folded precise as petals are, and wings 
Uplift my dreaming suddenly in flight, 
And fill my soul with jagged colorings. 

The waters tangle like a woman's hair 
Above the dim reflection of a face — 
He thinks those are his own lips laughing there, 
His own breasts curving under silk and lace. 

How shall we know our real selves, he and I, 
Which is the woman, which the butterfly? 



[lO] 



School 

His seat was by a window. So he dreamed. 

How could he study while the sunlight gleamed 

In small, sweet shapes, like wild things tame enough 

To dart to him and touch his hands for love? 

While there were profiles carved in every cloud 

To mark as grim or ludicrous or proud, 

And agile shadowings to writhe and crawl 

Like ghostly spiders up and down the wall, 

He could not help but turn their way to look. 

His eyes, that would not follow down his book 

The muddy trudgings of deliberate words, 

Reflected blue and silver flights of birds. 

You would not think there was so much to trace 

Of wonderment on just a window space. 

But once, when a frail scrap of paper moon 

Enchanted him from ten o'clock, till noon, 

They moved him to the middle of the room. 

He learned his lesson then for very gloom, 

Until, came glowing to a nearby chair, 

A little girl with sunset in her hair. 

His soul recolored. The forlorn dreams came 

To warm themselves once more at this new flame. 

He pushed aside the dusty Greek. He had 

A different way to read the Iliad. 

While through cold ashes others groped to learn, 

He lit the towers of Troy and saw them burn. 



[n] 



The Unfaithful April 

I saw a robin last year, 
I heard him fill his throat 

High in the trembling elm tree 
With note on gallant note. 

So splendidly his red breast 
Went flashing in the dew, 

I thought beneath his glad wings 
His heart had broken through. 

I hear the robin this year, 

His voice is sweet and strong, 

But I can not give him welcome 
Nor listen to his song. 

How can he bear the new leaves 
Around his last year's nest? 

How can he sing with old wounds 
Still red upon his breast? 



[12] 



Five o'clock 

Let us go far away from buttered toast, 

And tea, and marmalade, and all of it. 

The feathered jostling of their hats, the wit 

Unhumorous — I can not bear this host 

Of warm, sweet women! Everything offends. 

The murmurous movement of each gleaming bead, 

Sly laughter on soft lips that do not feed 

So much on tea as on their absent friends. 

I knew you understood because your eyes 

Were beckoning across the crowd to me. 

Oh Child, who have so strangely learned to be 

Unconsciously, mysteriously wise! 

We went away, unnoticed, from the room 

Into the drip of slow, autumnal rain. 

And laughed, and drew deep breath, and laughed again, 

We were so glad to leave that candled gloom. 

Through the wet dusk the leaves came fluttering — 
I felt one falling softly on my head 
As I leaned down to kiss you and you said 
Adorably, " You're such a dear old thing ! " 



[13] 



Loud Youth 

There is a great, sweet golden bell in me — 

It has a chime of flame, a flame so bright 

I seem to walk forever in its light, 

As gods do in their immortality. 

Such a tremendous joy would come to be. 

That chains would turn to wreaths of blowing white, 

And crutches drop for wings to flare in flight, 

If I could ring the bell that is in me. 

Oh if I could ! The stars would shake — and suns 

And moons collapse, and the hollow ways of death 

Fill with enough of echo to revive 

Such restlessness among the saintly ones, 

That the oldest of them all would catch his breath 

Remembering what it was to be alive! 



Hi 



Snowfall 

Enchantment on the river 

And magic on the lake, 
The world has turned to crystal, 

Don't speak or it will break! 

The road seems new, the valley 

An unfamiliar place, 
Where trees are trimmed with spangles 

And stones with silver lace. 

A pink and white, furred rabbit 

With a star-tuft for a tail, 
Hops up the hill by moonlight 

And leaves a fairy trail. 

I think we mar the meadow 
So white, and smooth as suede, 

We ought to shine in satin 
Or glitter in brocade. 



tiSl 



Humiliation 

How nakedly an animal 

Lies down on earth to die, 

Unmindful of the shining air, 
And unashamed of sky. 

But men and women under roofs 
Draw shades and hush the floor, 

And furtively they lay their dead 
Behind a darkened door. 



t.6] 



Idyll 

Not the wise, quiet pine nor the amorous, blonde oak 

Nor the tall, pale, lady elm tree, 
But you, who came invisible in a magic cloak, 

You, who were the wind, chose me. 

I, the white little birch, who had stood alone, serene, 

Content to listen and to stare — 
And I never saw your hands that tore my veils of green. 

Nor your lips that laughed in my hair. 

You held me and kissed me, I knew your strength and grace 

And dreams rose like sap in the spring. 
I trembled as with buds, but I never saw your face, 

I only heard you whispering. 

So yawning and careless you went on to field and sea, 

So here I am lonely and still — 
Oh wind, wind, better to have broken me 

Than leave me with roots in the hill. 



[17] 



Cobweb 

It joins a dark pine to another tree; 

And shining through its bones a ray of sun 

Unearthed it like some graceful skeleton, 

Or an unfinished frame of faery 

As frail as words. Not even thought could be 

More carefully, more delicately spun — 

As fine a thread as that invisible one 

Of speech and silence between you and me. 

The spider lurks there blotched and poisonous. 

He is the monstrous god who can at will 

Belch beauty from a stomachful of spit; 

And dreaming of that silver binding us, 

Which Love unwinds and weaves, my heart grows still 

And cries that Love is lovely — isn't it ? 



[i8] 



To Narcissus 

I have no beauty that is all my own, 

No special loveliness carved out of me, 

No glowing images wrought perfectly, 

Splendour of flesh or delicacy of bone. 

I am a pool, wherein you shall be shown 

How wonderful and starlike you can be, 

I am a mirror so that you may see 

Yourself most intimately and alone. 

When you lean to me and a dear, swift grace 

Sways in my body, and my lips and eyes 

Grow suddenly and exquisitely calm — 

Oh tremble and look deep into my face 

And see your own there, marvel and grow wise, 

Touch me and cry, " How beautiful I am ! " 



[19] 



One Voice 

You were the princess of the fairy tale 
Who spoke in emeralds instead of words, 

Whose laughter left an exquisite, bright trail 
Of sounds as winged and visible as birds. 

I never knew until yours went from me, 

That any voice could love my name so much, 

That just to speak it made it seem to be 
A fragrance and a color and a touch. 

My days are gestures of bewilderment, 
My nights are attitudes of listening. 

For fear you may have whispered as you went, 
And I shall lose the starlike echoing. 



[20J 



Driftwood 

Life gave me these — 

The beauty that can only branch in trees 

Who are content, knowing the roots' securities — 

The strength to stand up straight and bear the wings 

Of a brave ship on her adventurings — 

The bitterness of being broken, being tossed 

And driven on the waters and the winds, and lost 

In desolation, mist and stinging foam, 

And being beaten back at last to home. 

Now love has kindled me — 
Strange that my beauty of a dear, green tree 
Should vanish into smoke and memory. 
Strange that the strength, magnificently mine. 
Should fall before the flame without a sign. 
But oh most strange that bitterness should be 
Drawn up in color after color out of me. 



[21] 



Windows 

Today I have been washing windows 
Where storms have left their stain, 
And marks were made in loneliness 
By someone's fingers — m.ine, I guess — 
On the outside smear of rain, 
On the inside blur of pain. 

I had forgotten that clean windows 
Can make such difference. 

That through a glass as clear as air, 
Landscapes seem painted on each square, 
That colors shapely and intense 
Can bring relief and recompense. 

Fve looked so long through darkened windows 
Where my own reflection peers, 

I had forgotten there might be 

Things outside myself to see — 
I wonder if your eyesight clears 
For better vision after tears. 



[«] 



In Love 

No firefly more forlorn, more gravely strays 

Among the glories of the morning tree 

Than I, who glide almost invisibly 

Where apple boughs are white as brides' bouquets. 

Beneath the arches of the orchard ways, 

Only one tulip, that I start to see, 

As though my own heart had dropped out of me, 

Seems to have guessed that I, too, am ablaze. 

My blood is full of gleamings like seafoam, 
My body brims with something of the moon 
And shakes, as if with wings that would unfold. 
So, after dark, I bar the doors of home, 
Lest those, who think that I am grey at noon, 
Should stare at night to see that I am gold. 



[23] 



Variation 

Undesirous of a lover 

Daphne hid where cool ferns were 

And the kind god of the river 
With the flesh and blood of her 
Made a green tree lovelier. 

What presence could fill a forest, 

Or footfall so fearful be, 
That a god must rise in pity 

To change a quiet tree 

Into me? 



[24] 



Hail and Farewell 

With tears and a faithful heart and brave mirth, 
Once on a time you watched to welcome me. 
Waiting and weariness and agony 
Until the last were what you thought me worth. 
But wearier than the months that wait for birth 
Are those that wait for death— How shall I be 
Still while you are so still? How shall I see 
Unbrokenhearted your slow steps from earth? 

So the white watchers gather near to hark 
The soul's approach, the heralding of the horn, 
And so they strain and listen for the tread 
Of the free soul retreating down the dark — 
Mothers who wait for children to be born, 
Children who wait for mothers to be dead. 



[25] 



Plaint 

I too would run like Nicolette 
Down aisles of rose and mignonette, 
And stain my knees with midnight dew 
Passing the ghostly gardens through, 
If I should know that loverly 
Young Aucassin awaited me! 

And I could leave without regret 
My warm white bed like Nicolette, 
And flee from roof and candle-light 
Into the deepest hour of night, 
If by the ivy-shadowed wall, 
I knew that Aucassin would call. 

But I'll not tremble in the wet. 
Nor bruise my feet like Nicolette, 
Only to dream of his embrace, 
Only to think I see his face. 
Feel nothing sweeter on my mouth 
Than heedless wind lips from the south, 
Only to stand unloved, alone, 
And listen to the fountain moan 
From stone to unresponsive stone. 



[26] 



The Violin 

Musician, give a voice to me! 

Oh quicken wood and string, 
Unburden me of ecstasy, 

For I have songs to sing! 

Of faces forward through dark rains, 

Of torn but valiant feet, 
Of blood that runs in shrinking veins, 

Of broken hearts that beat. 

Of crooked boughs that have kept true 

The promise to fulfill, 
Of thwarted roots that yet pursue 

Their purpose in the hill. 

Oh all you safe and smooth of heart 

Listen to song from me, 
Whose wooden throat was once a part 

Of the north side of a tree! 



[27] 



Keepsake 

You said they were brook trout — 

Those fairy blades of sun and moonlight 

You so gravely lifted out 

One by one from your basket on the grass. 

And I held up two handfuls 

Of pink and green and white 

For everyone to see, 

And called the colors by a name, 

Wood-anemone. 

But of all those little dreams in cups 
Left brimming over on the moss, 
And of that big, breathless one 
We leaned across 

The fallen willow to give back again 
To deep and shoal — 
We never said a word, 
We never told a soul! 



[28] 



A Child's Song to Her Mother 

The lovely years went lightly by 

As April flowers go, 
And often you would laugh or cry 

To see how I could grow. 

The lonely years drift by in rain, 

As leaves in autumn do. 
I long, when we shall meet again, 

To be as tall as you. 



C29] 



Threnody 

I never have known anyone so proud, 

So fierce for faith, so strong for nobleness. 

I never heard you whine nor cry distress, 

Nor saw you kneel nor knew your bright head bowed. 

Dreams, Love and Laughter were a swift, white crowd 

Of wings flashed upward from your loveliness, 

You carried Truth, wore Honor as a dress 

And wound yourself in Beauty like a cloud. 

Surely this is not you who lies so low, 
Smitten as others, yielding as they must 
With abject hands and smooth, submissive head, 
All fire and glory crumpled by one blow. 
Bewildered and beaten and brought to dust, 
This is not you, oh pitiful and dead! 



t3o] 



Two Songs of Bitterness 



Dear to me is Ruth, a bowl of crystal 

She brims her heart with laughter and I look 

And see her clear as the dew on a cobweb, 
Or green water over white sand in a brook. 

Mary is dearer, color and story 

Are wound in her and like soft cloths unfold, 
And when she moves her footsteps are of silver, 

And where she will her touch can turn to gold. 

Oh sweet as wine is laughter with the loving, 
And speech with the living good as bread, 

But only with a ghost can I feast in silence, 
With Eunice, who is dearest, being dead. 



l3i] 



The princess that I could not be, 
The fairy that was not for me, 
The game begun and never ended, 
The castle dreamed, the play pretended. 
The note unsung, the word unspoken, 
Whatever I have lost and broken. 
My doll, my heart, my promises. 
All these things Eunice is — 
When I lie down with her to rest, 
I'll find my dearest and my best 
Safe in her dust beneath the sod. 
Kept fair and clear and written plain, 
And then I shall believe again 
In elves and knights and love and God. 



[32] 



To a Mocking-Bird 

I was asleep, dreaming that I could see 

The north hills bowed and burdened with the snow, 

And the grey-bearded river old and slow, 

And the sick silences on vine and tree — 

When in upon my loneliness and me 

Light rushed, and sweetness tumbled down as though 

Windows had opened for white hands to throw 

Roses and roses from a balcony. 

Oh Bird, imperious for happiness, 

For moments gold as arrows in the air, 

I am the only dark in all daybreak! 

Let loose your avalanche of loveliness 

Over my heart, until I am aware 

How long I sleep — and sing me wide awake ! 



[33] 



Gesture 

My arms were always quiet, 

Close, and never freed. 
I was furled like a banner, 

Enfolded like a seed. 

I thought, when Love shall strike me, 
- Each arm will start and spring, 
Unloosen like a petal, 
And open like a wing. 

Oh Love — my arms are lifted, 

But not to sway and toss; 
They strain out wide and wounded. 

Like arms upon a cross. 



[34] 



Language 

I made new speech for you, a secret tongue, 

Dearest and best of all in book or scroll — 

To hear it spoken was to hear it sung, 

I copied all of it upon my soul. 

There were those leafy letters, wreathed like vines, 

Such trellises of words as Sappho spoke — 

Heavy as silver flagons of old wines 

Some Latin phrases carved by stately folk. 

I could not find a sound for leavetakings 

Slower, more sorrowful than Spanish is. 

And the French names with flower-dusty wings 

Flew in and out among the sentences. 

So with my heart a voice made musical, 

I went to you and did not speak at all. 



[35] 



A Tree at Dawn 

I know that day will come for I have seen 
Under the sky three silver threads unravelling. 

The blackness whispers of green — 

A sound becomes a glimmering 
And waters waken. 

White from her sleep the Lily prays — 

A fragrance sways 
Where the grass is shaken. 

And as the last hour listens, lingering, 
Deep in my heart the Voice begins to sing. 



[36] 



A Tree at Dusk 

With secrets in their eyes the blue-winged Hours 
Rustle through the meadow 
Dropping shadow. 

Yawning among red flowers, 

The Moon Child with her golden hoop 

And a pink star drifting after, 

Leans to me where I droop. 

I hear her delicate, soft laughter, 

And through my hair her tiny fingers creep. . . . 

I shall sleep. 



[37] 



Love Song from New England 

In every solemn tree the wind 

Has rung a little lonesome bell, 
As sweet and clear, as cool and kind 

As my voice bidding you farewell. 

This is an hour that gods have loved 

To snatch with bare, bright hands and hold. 

Mine, w^ith a gesture, grey and gloved, 
Dismiss it from me in the cold. 

Closely as some dark-shuttered house 

I keep my light. How should you know, 

That as you turn beneath brown boughs, 
My heart is breaking in the snow? 



[38] 



Trespasser 

I am among the careless dead 

Who do not rise to see 
Why I should hurry through their flowers 

Beneath their willow tree, 
Nor lift their hands from off their breasts 

To beckon me. 

But though I run so lightly through 

The myrtle's rambling mass, 
And though my feet step silently 

Above the blowing grass. 
And though they do not stir or speak — 

They know I pass. 



rsg] 



Moonflower 

I can not be a banner swift and gay, 

A yellow glory or a scarlet flight, 

Superbly opening upward into light — 

While some are weaving scarves I only pray. 

I am the one who hides her heart by day, 

Who does not dare to rise and blossom white 

Until the lovely moment before night, 

The interval of lavendar and grey. 

So love me delicately as the rain 

Fingers the leaves. Hold me as if asleep — 

Nor waken me with som.e too terrible 

Dear call or kiss, lest, stricken with the pain 

Of your close-beating heart, my heart should leap 

And break, finding the world too beautiful! 



[4C] 



Suti 

Here are gardens growing, ruining in the deep, 

Where the frail foam pauses, then topples and unturns 
Forever and forever, wonderful white ferns. 

Where feathers fly in colors and lights like lizards creep, 

Where the twining, white ivy shrivels and is rolled 
Glamorous and blowing into fragment and flake- 
Beneath enormous orchids that only bloom to break. 

To crumble into smoke and turn to opal mould. 

And some waves like children — each one alight, alone — 
Hurry up the pathway and point and hesitate. 
Their torn blue ruflles tossing around them as they wait, 

As they turn and tiptoe seaward over shell and stone. 

So it is that wonderings flow in and out of me — 
Like little bells and tassels of foam along a beach 
They dream and sigh and whisper, whimper and reach 

For peace withdrawn as softly as sand from the sea. 



[41I 



The Misers 

We were so fearful lest we give too much 
And thereby wrench the sweetness from the song, 
Trembled to look too deep or kiss too long, 
And stood aloof when we yearned most to touch. 

Oh had we been content, less passionate 
For Love's eternity we had not lost 
The least of Love's eternal hours, whose cost 
We never dreamed until it was too late. 

So was life stripped of even memories 
To meet that time when we had no desire, 
That day we looked and turned away shamed eyes, 
Seeing but ashes where had once been fire. 

No splendid shadows of a well-lost heaven, 
But tearful ghosts of kisses never given. 



[42] 



Lifetime 

I am the river, I have been immense 

With hope, great as the inner heart of spring- 

The reeds have huddled to my whimpering 

Amid the noon-time's staleness and suspense. 

Between the ruins of magnificence. 

Stained and autumnal, mournfully I sing, 

And then among my white beards muttering 

Grow old, and sleep into indifference. 

I have no returning, onward is best. 

Close to the dark, sweet earth in every place. 

But with the sky's mark hidden in my breast. 

And a star's shadow falling on my face. 

Where shining spaces wait to fill with me, 

Death is the beautiful and bitter sea. 



[43] 



Communion 

With delicate, white hands the priest has laid 
His usual blessing on the wine and bread, 
And to each broken figure, each bent head. 
The symbol brought, the silver cup conveyed. 
The candles peer, uneasy and afraid, 
Like small, grey faces from the mournful dead. 
And up and down the aisles the organ's dread 
And doubt and grief and gravity have strayed. 

Softly the stained glass windows split apart. 
Their ineffectual angels pine and pass — 
I am upright and proud. Whom I seek now 
Sudden and sure as dawn breaks in my heart — 
And I tread stars as intimately as grass, 
Touch light as though it were a golden bough. 



[44] 



Talisman 

He was a little boy and gentle, 

With the dim look in his eyes 
Of one accustomed to a temple 
-And speech there with the wise. 

He went the adventurous way of beauty 
And passed unharmed without distress, 

And learned a secret for unlocking 
The spells of ugliness. 

He knew, like someone in a legend, 
The magic in the lowliest things. 

That stones are golden coaches really, 
And frogs are fairy kings. 

So when Death came, he saw her coming 

With a tall star in her hand. 
And turned from life as from enchantment 

At the waving of her wand. 



[45] 



Sympathy 

While all of you are bringing milk and bread 
And stroking me and saying I must rest, 
Remembrance beats like black wings in my head, 
And wolfish grief is clawing in my breast. 

I know that you are kind, that you mean well, 
And thanking you so quietly I seem 
So comforted that you could never tell 
I'm wondering why it is I do not scream. 

Oh crucify me! Nail my hands and feet! 
Strike in and turn the torture of a knife 
Heart-deep to loose my blood and take my breath 
Pain would be good and suffering seem sweet. 
But keep your love for those who still love life. 
And do not feed me who am starved to death. 



[463 



Nocturne 

I have grown pale and paler 

Since one went away, 
Who passed from me as softly 

As daylight leaves the day. 

My hair has lost its gleaming, 

The light has left my face, 
I am a grey-eyed wanderer 

In any lonely place. 

And on my heart is moonlight 
Like white rain on the sea. 

And I am of the evening 
As the evening is of me. 

A gentle moan, remembrance, 

A folded wing is love, 
Since my dream stepped into shadow 

On the soft feet of a dove. 

Now when thoughts of him arise 

And open in my soul, 
They are frailer than white roses 

In a silver bowl. 



[471 



The Child 

The linden bough above the garden wall, 

The pleasant meadow and the pretty brook, 

What miles of dream they spread, what torrents shook, 

What majesty they wore when I was small! 

Since I am grown they are not so at all. 

Absurd and dear as fairies in a book, 

They fade and dwindle and will never look 

Mighty again to me for I am tall. 

I shall grow taller, sometime I shall be 

Shoulder to shoulder with the full-grown cloud, 

And, looking down on life and death and birth, 

As I do now on grasses or a tree. 

Remembering myself shall laugh aloud 

And think, ''Oh little Grief! Oh foolish Earth!" 



[48] 



My Heart Cant Break 

My heart can't break but closes like a flower 
That waits In windless places for the day, 
Until the arrowy dawn finds some swift way 
To pierce its paleness with a gleaming hour. 

And when at last I look without offense 
Through windows and in mirrors that were yours, 
The stranger shadow in them reassures 
My heart that it has learned indifference. 

So hour and hour and hour and dark and light 
Go rustling softly by as women do. 
Trailing complacence In a silken dress. 

Until, crying with loneliness some night, 
I wake from that old dream of losing you 
To find my hands closed tight on emptiness. 



[49] 



Portrait of a Lady at the Piano 

She spoke assent, decisively and clear, 

Flashed to her seat, flame-eyed and shining-lipped. 

As though she were a crystal that had slipped 

Down from the brilliance of the chandelier. 

Her hands glittered — We thought that we could hem 

Icewater on white marble as it dripped, 

Or yards of pale, blue satin deftly ripped 

To shreds, or falling fragments of a spear.' 

Is there not anywhere deep down in her 
One long, soft note to penetrate this blur 
Of splintered music? Do bright, broken things 
Litter her soul, or has she somewhere stored 
In secret purple, like warm evenings. 
The steady darkness of some perfect chord? 



[50] 



Fve Lived So Long 

I've lived so long companionless 
In this old house bowed down with years, 
I've learned to welcome loneliness, 
Converse with dreams and sit with fears. 



Often and often in the night 
When I have laid some dull book down, 
One comes between me and the light 
With terrible, unrustling gown. 

Wistful as moonlight in the room 
Her face sways, luminous with fire 
Of eyes unsmothered by the tomb. 
Of lips remembering still desire. 

And there beside the lute she stands 
With mournful little motionings, 
And stretches out her pulseless hands 
And only thrusts them through the strings. 

No way to bring her longing near 
Who has no heart to beat and break, 
Nor any way that she can hear 
The sound her lost touch can not make. 

[51] 



Oh who will sit here wondering 
Some other night and watch me steal 
Close to an unforgotten thing 
With hands that reach but do not feel? 



[52] 



Realities 

When I stand listening in my heart at night, 
I hear them leaping through the loneliness 
Ringing their colored bells, and less and less 
I grieve as thej' come flashing into sight. 
The lover Dreams run first, boy-like and bright, 
Then lusty Ghosts and ruddy Fairies press 
And crowd to kiss my hair or touch my dress, 
Substantial as the stars, as real as light. 

My heart grows dark with the returning day, 
And flames no more, but flickers and grows faint. 
Faces fade by me in a ghostly stream, 
Voices of people are a faroff plaint. 
I move uncertainly, and grope my way 
Among them, like a shadow or a dream. 



'53] 



Setting for a Fairy Story 

This is a lonesome place. 

The water is as peaceful as a face, 

That moods have smoothed and dreams made exquisite. 

And where your paddle gleams and slips, i 

It seems as if one sighed and closed his lips. 

And softly and as sly 

As ghostly cats, the long white mists prowl by. 

Oh I can tell 

We are not wanted here! There is some spell 

Those dwarfs of trees, who squat around the lake, 

Are squinting through the dusk to see us break. 

So desolate a place ... so full of wonder. . . . 

Now near, and far, and over us and under, 

A million million frogs entreat. 

Their thin, entangled threads of voices meet 

And mingle with the tree-toads', jarring sweet 

And whirring strong as tiny motors might. 

And leader of them all far down the night, 

One huge, wet-bellied, moss-mouthed crier 

Twangs like a taut bronze wire. 

The way grows narrower, the voices less. 

Only the water-lilies in distress 

Hold up their horrified white hands, and cling 

Close to each other shuddering. 

And I am troubled by their breath. 

That smells of mystery, or sleep, or death. 

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And was it death or sleep or mystery, 

That slew the knighthood in so brave a tree, 

And left him torn to bowels, stripped to bone, 

Abject and mutilated and alone? 

His body, broken but still marvellous, 

Darkens and bars the way for us. 

And so we leave our boat and move 

Timidly through a fearsome grove, 

Where witches' shadows huddle as we go — 

It ends — as sudden as a blow. 

And here are blessed, blue-lit spaces! 

The fireflies everywhere, 

Like tips of wands are waving in the air. 

And we can see our faces 

Dimly, like faces in a well. 

So quieted beneath that star, 

We have forgotten that there was a spell, 

And kiss, and laugh to find how real we are! 

And then, as if she heard our laughter. 

And longed to tiptoe after. 

Amazingly alone and still. 

And very fairy-queenlike on the hill. 

The moon uprises, darling as of old. 

So we go home, resplendent in her gold, 

Safe in her glory, 

And happy as the ending of a story. 

Mount Misery Brook 



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Climb 

My shoes fall on the house-top that is so far beneath me, 
I have hung my hat forever on the sharp church spire, 

Now what shall seem the hill but a moment of surmounting, 
The height but a place to dream of something higher! 

Wings? Oh not for me, I need no other pinions 
Than the beating of my heart within my breast; 

Wings are for the dreamer with a bird-like longing, 
Whose dreams come home at eventide to nest. 

The timid folk beseech me, the wise ones warn me. 

They say that I shall never grow to stand so high ; 
But I climb among the hills of cloud and follow vanished 
lightning, 
I shall stand knee-deep in thunder with my head against 
the sky. 

Tiptoe, at last, upon a pinnacle of sunset, 

I shall greet the death-like evening with laughter from 
afar, 
Nor tremble in the darkness nor shun the windy midnight, 

For by the evening I shall be a star. 



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